


Vermillion

by sp00kworm



Category: House of Wax (2005)
Genre: Bartender Reader, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Dates, Dating, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Sex, Sexual Content, Stockholm Syndrome, Wound Descriptions, casual hookups, marriage kink?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22498690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp00kworm/pseuds/sp00kworm
Summary: You pulled the pint of drink for him and placed the cool glass in front of him before pulling along an ashtray for him, “What brings you back to our humble establishment?” Joking, you leaned on the top on front of him, fluttering your eyelashes, “Maybe the music?”Bo drew back slightly, sparking the cigarette before blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth with half lidded eyes, “Something like that. Maybe it was the beer. You got a good choice.” He shrugged and flicked ash into the ashtray.“Well, you’ll be glad to know there’s plenty more where that came from.” With a smile you headed off to make the next round of drinks for the truckers sat in the far corner, humming along to the next song on your new playlist.
Relationships: Bo Sinclair/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	Vermillion

It wasn’t often that Bo Sinclair couldn’t stand the sight of his home, but when it did happen, he was always the first to escape in his truck, leaving Vincent in peace in the basement. Lester was rarely there to begin with, so it wasn’t like he was missing much when he was out of town. It was just them. Them and the dog, he reasoned as he cranked the volume of the rock station down in his truck. The bars he could easily drive to were run down little things, often just off to the side of a fuel station. Truckers and the large sort frequented them, laying down in their truck cabins for a few hours of sleep after a beer. They were run down, but the beer was cold and the food usually greasy enough to take his mind off whatever was itching at the back of his neck. Bo took a breath, strangling the steering wheel in his grasp as he listened to the last of the song on the station. When it finished and the annoying presenter droned back in, he turned the engine off and hopped out of the truck, locking the door as he took in the run-down establishment. Thankfully he was in his mechanic overalls still. He didn’t look out of place among the fat-bellied truckers that had just walked in.

The inside was just as dingy as the outside. The old wood was dark and the pictures on the walls were from when the area was known for its mining. He listened to the quiet hum lull on as he moved into the corner of the bar and eyed what was on tap. Truly he would be fine with a bottle. He didn’t care much for what it was so long as he could have the alcohol to destress. He snarled when his elbow was jostled, the trucker apologising gruffly before taking his tankard off back to a group of his friends. They clicked drinks before setting their scruffy lips to guzzling whatever it was in the huge cups. The music was some sort of rage metal, playing over the speakers in the corner, though not loud enough for any of the older men to complain about it. Bo was surprised by the choice but noted it as a reason to come back. Too many places played cheesy charts shit that he couldn’t stand. Heavier music had been his outlet since he was young.

The bartender was the one making the swap it seemed, beer bottles clutched to their chest as they flicked through an old ipod and changed the tracks to something heavier still. Bo would come back if he could drink beer with this sort of music on.

You felt burning eyes on your form as you clicked through the tracks of your little ipod. Dark blue gazed at you from the bottom of the bar and you took that as a sign that your little music switch had taken too long for some of the patrons’ tastes. With a smile you dumped the bottles in the box for collection and placed the glasses in the other one for the kitchen to wash. You were unassuming to him. Yet your music taste made him want to cry with joy. He was god damn sick of the classical music Vincent had on in the house. The only place he was free of it was at the garage with his battered tapes.

“Hey stranger, what can I get you?” You asked as you drew out a cold glass from under the polished counter.

Bo looked at you hard, chewing a toothpick as he gazed at the beers and shrugged, “I ain’t picky. Stronger is better but nothin’ that’s a spirit.” He flicked the wood and watched you hum and pull him a pint of a lighter coloured beer, placing it in front of him with a smile as the next riff crashed through your small speaker set up.

“Tab or cash upfront?”

“Open a tab. I’ll pay before I leave.” He offered before taking the beer and sliding himself into the seat on the end, “We alright to smoke inside?”

“Sure, just make sure to stub it out in the ashtray. If I see ash on the counter, I’ll charge you double for the beer.”

Your sour smirk drew a chuckle from the man in the cap. He placed the bleached, blue baseball cap on the bar before rubbing at his wild brown hair and drawing out a packet of cigarettes, wasting no time sparking one up before he took a sip of the beer. His face was pleasant as he took another, then chugged four great mouthfuls. If he was driving, you hoped he wasn’t going to have too many. Ignoring the new stranger, you tended to the other men, drawing beers and whiskeys before returning to your docked ipod, flicking to something metalcore before humming your way back to behind the bar, taking to cleaning glasses as the drum thundered softly behind you. The new band drew Bo’s attention back to the speaker as a vicious low noise growled over the wood. Some patrons rolled their eyes, and the male didn’t miss their chuckles at the music. It seemed like the regulars were used to the heavier stuff. A few seemed like the sort to enjoy this music. Bo felt his gaze linger on you as you canted your hips left and right, humming along to the song as you worked quietly before people came up to ask for drinks.

The eyes were on you as the male drank, his dark eyes peering over the rim of his glass, searching perhaps for something he liked. Maybe the music was pissing him off. You couldn’t find it in you to care about what he thought.

Bo raised his hand with a smile, “Bartender! I’ll have another of whatever that was, please.” He was still smoking, slowly dragging on his second cigarette.

“Sure thing. Half?” You watched him drag on the cigarette, as though he was actually deciding.

“Sure. Half. I gotta drive home.” He ground the stub out in the ashtray, “Thoughtful of you.” He hummed before pushing the ashtray away, handing you back his glass, “You got a name, sweets?”

“As much as I wish it was sweets, it isn’t.” You chuckled, pulling another half a pint for the man before offering your name with his drink, “What about you? I’ve worked here about a year and I’ve never seen you before.”

“Bo. Don’t stand for nothin' either before you ask.” He gave you a smile full of teeth, sipping the beer you put in front of him with something of a relaxed slouch.

“Well, Bo, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, doll. Might see more of me with that music taste of yours too.” Bo winked and glugged the rest of his drink, as though the liquid would get rid of something he was thinking about.

You’d seen his sort before. At least he had the spoons not to drink himself into a stupor. He had to drive home after all. The mechanics overalls moved enough to reveal thick, scarred wrists, the marks puckered, pink and white. You pretended not to see and took the glass from him as he sparked his third cigarette. A man with plenty of baggage. One to avoid. Yet as he cracked another smirk, taking the drink from you, you couldn’t help but smile back, watching him poke at his tattered hat, his hair messy. Something about him was off, yet he hid it behind a southern smile and a honey accent. Bo raised the crisp glass to his lips, drinking slower now, puffing on the cigarette between his lips as he turned to listen to a gruff exchange in the corner. The regulars were getting a little rowdy. The music chugged on in the background. Bo chuckled and turned his eyes back on you, watching under his lashes as you wiped down the counter with a cloth. The burning gaze followed you as you served another patron, and then another. He didn’t ask for another drink, just nursed the last one you had given him as the last of the men emptied out of the bar.

It was close to two o’clock in the morning.

Bo took his hat from the counter as the last man walked out, “Thanks for letting me stay, doll. Sweet of ya considering I haven’t bought more than two drinks.” He fished into his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, “Keep the rest as a tip.”

It was a kind gesture considering his drinks only came to about six dollars, “Thanks. You off back home now?” The glass clicked as you put it back in the box of washing, “Must have been something on your mind to keep you here until close.” You clicked off the chugging guitar of some metalcore song as Bo pulled the brim of his hat lower.

Bo chewed the edge of his lip before releasing it and smirking, “Ain’t nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over.” He tugged the sleeves of his coveralls and stood from the bar stool, tucking his wallet back into his front pocket.

“I’m not worried. You haven’t drunk enough to make a rat tipsy tonight. I’m sure you’ll be safe on your way home.” You put the cash in the register and took your four dollars for your tip jar on the end of the bar, “Thank you for the tip by the way. Not many tend to leave them.”

The male nodded and took a deep breath before moving to the door, “See you around, sweets. Your music taste really might just keep me around.” With another wink, he was out of the door, leaving you wiping your hands on your rag.

Bo licked at his lips as he closed the bar door, looking at his truck in the empty parking lot then back at the door. It was tempting to wait, to drive a little way down and trail behind you. He could, but it was late, and he had a few errands to run early. The man smirked and walked to his truck, tucking the card with the address of the bar into his pocket. Maybe next time he’d get himself a little souvenir?

You didn’t see Bo for a while.

The typical men and women were tucked in the back of the bar. It was still early for a few of them, so most were only a drink or two in. You’d taken liberties with the music once more, bobbing your head by the fridge at the back of the bar as you stocked beers and ciders into it. When the door went, you peaked up over your shoulder, watching the new familiar face saunter in. Bo was earlier this time. Dressed in blue jeans and a plaid shirt, he walked in with heavy boots on his feet and a smile on his face. He seemed brighter, less in a mood than the last time. He pulled his baseball cap off as he entered and gave you a bright, toothy smile, dangerous as he prowled over to the bar.

“You look like the cat that got the cream, Bo.” With a laugh you pulled out a glass, “What will it be this time?”

The man rolled his shoulders, still happy with the ego stroking, “Same as last time, doll-face. Tab too.” Bo sat down on the same barstool, his elbows on the bar top as he rummaged in a pocket for his crushed packet of cigarettes.

You pulled the pint of drink for him and placed the cool glass in front of him before pulling along an ashtray for him, “What brings you back to our humble establishment?” Joking, you leaned on the top on front of him, fluttering your eyelashes, “Maybe the music?”

Bo drew back slightly, sparking the cigarette before blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth with half lidded eyes, “Something like that. Maybe it was the beer. You got a good choice.” He shrugged and flicked ash into the ashtray.

“Well, you’ll be glad to know there’s plenty more where that came from.” With a smile you headed off to make the next round of drinks for the truckers sat in the far corner, humming along to the next song on your new playlist.

Bo watched under his eyelashes as you swayed and handed back drinks to the bearded, burly male, taking the cash and handing him his change with practiced ease. They seemed to all like you here, and respect you. It was nice to see. He waited for you to come back and continue the conversation. You ignored him and his gaze in favour of changing up the music, this time to a faster beat.

Bo pulled his old phone out to see a brief message. Something from Vincent. They both had little pay phones, though Vincent only tended to send him anything if it was urgent. Apparently red paint at seven o’clock at night was just that urgent. With a snort, he sent a haughty reply about picking it up tomorrow afternoon. Thinking of a way to get you back over and talking was more important right now than his brother’s painting hobby. He’d been away for the week chasing new little victims for their collection. One had hidden out in the woods not far from Lester’s cabin, and had mistakenly banged on the door, and ended up right back in their clutches. He’d enjoyed hog tying the brat a little too much, and maybe enjoyed throwing him down the stairs to Vincent a little bit more. A violent part of him had wanted to beat the young man for the trouble he’d given him, but it wasn’t right. Vincent wanted that one alive for some reason. His younger brother had pointed wildly to some new pose in his notebook and Bo had been loathe to pay attention outside of a ‘Do what the fuck you want’.

Bo settled for finishing his drink before calling your name, “Can I get another one please, sweets?” He asked, sugar on top of the honey that was his accent.

“Sure thing.” You took his glass with a smile and set to getting him a refill as he watched on behind you, his packet of cigarettes perched by his hand, his metal lighter clicking in his hands as he sparked it up, closed it, and repeated.

“You been working here long?” He asked as he snapped his lighter closed, blue eyes crinkled around the edges with his smile. It was a handsome smile.

Blowing air out of your mouth you thought about it, “Just over a year now, I think? Its not a bad job when you get the tips and the crowd seem to like me enough. Definitely makes it more bearable.” You placed his refilled beer next to his hand as he pocketed his lighter.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiled as he took his glass in his hand.

“What about you, Mister? What do you do for a living?” You stood next to him as the metal music turned soft, “Something hands on?”

It was probably a bad idea. Definitely.

“I’m a mechanic. Have my own little place. Not real busy but the work comes and goes.” Bo couldn’t stop himself before he was spouting too much, “Out in a little piece of land. The town’s quiet but we all make do. Like the peace ‘n quiet.”

You nodded with a smile, “That must be nice. I always wanted to live out in the country.” Confessing it to the man felt odd, but you were convinced no harm could really come from it, “But there aren’t that many jobs so far from civilization.”

Bo chuckled after a swig of beer, “It ain’t as bad as you think.” But didn’t say anymore as he fingered his pack of cigarettes.

“So Mister Mechanic has his own land and a little town to look after. Doesn’t seem like you’re doing too bad for yourself.” You joked, easing the tension, “All you need now is a little family.”

Bo felt something akin to bile rise in his throat, “Somethin’ like that. Though maybe playin’ happy families isn’t my forte.” He rubbed at his forehead with a frustrated smile, “One can only hope, right?” He laughed, brushing off the gloom with another drink, “You want the easy life I take it? Stayin’ at home. Lookin’ after kids?”

Bo swallowed the sour taste in his mouth as his heart leaped in his throat. A little house-spouse. Something about the idea of it made his gut twist in his belly. He licked at his lips again before taking a few deep swallows of beer.

“Isn’t that what everyone wants? The easy life. No worries.” You smiled and tapped your fingers along the bar counter before sighing, “Though it will probably never happen.”

“Who knows, sweetpea?” Bo smiled over the rim of his glass, “Be careful what you wish for.” He flicked open his lighter to light another cigarette.

Scoffing, you reached for your handkerchief to wipe at your forehead, the summer heat still permeating the bar, making it hot inside, “Thanks, Bo. You’re a real mood sucker, you know that?” You smiled at him.

The smile made his worries ease a little, “Maybe everyone will get what they want in the end, doll.” The toothy smirk was known to you now, and you smiled back as metal thundered over the speakers, pulling him another drink before serving the rest of the clients.

Bo grinned at his hand as he walked out that night, your handkerchief in his hand, your smell lingering in the material. As he sat in his truck, he pressed his nose into the material and groaned.

At first Bo came by weekly. You knew he was busy. Looking after his brothers and running errands while trying to manage a plot of land didn’t leave him much time for socialising. Bo made time. The more he visited, the more time he made. Weekly visits became twice weekly all too easily, and Bo looked forwards to listening to you snark at customers, or music taste, though you both liked the same bands anyway. The handkerchief was still in his pocket, the red cotton kind on his rough fingers. He pushed a finger into the material before he ordered another drink.

“Heineken today, sugar.” His smile was infectious as he seated himself properly, hands on the bar, his cigarettes tucked into his shirt pocket this time.

“That’s a weak one for you Bo.” You teased, cracking a bottle open for him with a quick flick of a bottle opener. You placed the top by his hand and held up your pad, scribbling down his drink at the top of a new page.

Bo gave a lopsided grin before pulling a cigarette out and thumping over his pockets with a curse, “You got a light? My lighter is back in the truck.” He asked and held out the cigarette to you.

Rolling your eyes you grasped the spare lighter from under the counter, “You’d think a nicotine addict like you wouldn’t forget your lighter.” You let him hold the cigarette in his mouth before you lit the end with a raised eyebrow.

For your sass, Bo made sure to blow the first lung full of smoke in your direction, “For a bartender you’d think you’d be a lot nicer to the clients that pay your wage, sweets.”

It wasn’t a threat, you knew that, so you laughed at him and turned to give a lady her whiskey before answering him, “I thought you only came here for the music anyway?” You teased.

Bo scoffed, “Somethin’ like that.” And drank a few mouthfuls of beer before tapping his cigarette on the ashtray edge, “Maybe I like the company.”

A grin was his reply, “Mister Bo Sinclair, hard man of the century, just wants a bit of company.”

“Carry on with that sass, doll, and I’ll make sure you don’ do it again.” Bo snatched your wrist from the counter with a dark look, “If you catch my drift.” His eyelashes were low, touching his cheeks as he leaned over the bar.

Bo was coming on to you. The Bo Sinclair, was coming onto you.

A thick wad of spit was hard to swallow, and you managed with a soft gulp as he eyed you, fingers tight around your wrist.

“And just how would you do that?” You knew you were playing with fire now, daring Bo to spout all the things he had been thinking about.

Bo took a drink before twisting you closer, his free hand dragging up over the soft skin on the inside of your wrist, “Maybe I’d rather your mouth be sayin’ other things?” He leaned up to make sure no one would overhear, speaking hotly into your ear, “Or screaming them for me. Bet you sound divine all worked up.”

That was a little too much. With a furious blush on your face, you pulled away jerkily, eyeing Bo with pursed lips, “What makes you think I’d let you, Mister Sinclair?” You really were putting your foot in it.

“I don’t.” He let go of you in an instant, “It was just an offer, should you want to take me up on it.” Bo sat back in his seat, pulling at his shirt as though he was hot before downing the rest of his drink, “Think about it, doll. I’ll be back tomorrow. I gotta run an errand before I head home.”

Like a proud cat he was out of the door, chest puffed out as though he had just achieved the impossible. When you turned over his beer coaster, his number was scribbled on the back, everything blocky and rushed. As a drum thundered you entered his number into your contacts and thumbed at the text button. A customer called for another drink and you tucked your phone back away before pulling another round of pints for the group in the back, smiling and chatting friendly.

The number felt odd in your phone. After your shift, you pulled out your phone and eyed his number again, thumb tapping the little message button once before you made your decision. Typing out the message you took a deep breath before pressing send. His reply didn’t come. It was sent, and as you locked up the bar you held your phone tighter, hoping that tomorrow wouldn’t be awkward. You climbed into your car as your phone buzzed with a response.

_‘Did you see me writing my number or is this by accident?’_

You swallowed and replied, _‘Thought I’d take you up on your offer ;)’_

_‘After your shift tomorrow?’_

Your fingers shook as you typed, _‘See you then tiger.’_ and exhaled, trembling as you turned on the engine and turned on the radio. The late-night talk show didn’t calm your nerves any as you pulled out and chewed on your lip.

One night turned into two, and two turned into four faster than you knew. It wasn’t even a hook up the third time. Bo took you out for breakfast. It was still a little motorway diner, but the pancakes were to die for. It was nice. Almost domestic. The next time you met it was the same. Going for breakfast in another little place. The time after that is was back in the motel, teeth clashing and hands groping handfuls of one another as he fucked you hard into the bed. It was a stark and scary difference, but as Bo placed his hand over yours in the diner, you found it hard to care about the shadows under his eyes and the strange glint in the corner. You looked down at your waffles and hummed, sipping a hot beverage tentatively as Bo chewed his pancakes with a noise of glee. Anyone would think he never ate the way he shoved quarters of cooked dough into his mouth. The coffee didn’t seem to bother him, and he swallowed a few mouthfuls before finally slowing down.

“Anyone would think you’ve never been fed, Bo.” You shook your head as you cut up your waffle.

Bo struggled to swallow his mouthful before he replied, “In truth, I got to get home, doll.” He confessed quietly, strong fingers resting on the table edge, “Something’s come up back home.”

“Nothing serious I hope?” You hid the upset in your eyes.

Bo shook his head, “Nothin' serious but I’m worried about Vincent.” He tapped one finger on the table and drew his lips back, half of his teeth exposed as he sucked air through them, “He...He can look after himself but people keep comin’ up to the house and I get a lil' worried for ‘im.” If he was lying you couldn’t tell. Bo pursed his lips before releasing the tension, licking at them before he posed the question to you, “How about we get the rest to take out? I can show you the house if ya'd like?”

“Mister Sinclair, it’s only the third date and you’re already taking me home to meet the family?” You teased as he leaned over to ask for boxes.

Bo's eyes went low, looking at the dip of your neck into your collar bones before he replied, “Seen as though I’ve already taken you elsewhere, seems about right I take you home.” His tongue made a round over his lips, imagining the taste of you before he leaned back to let the waitress take your food and box it up.

This was the moment. Bo knew it. You could reject him and go back to your little bar job, or you could come with him. He wanted you. He needed you like a dying man. It was like an itch in the back of his head, constant, fogging his brain with something like joy when he thought about you. The cruel part wanted to snatch you now, hunting knife to your neck as he dragged you back to the truck and hid you back in the middle of nowhere, back in Ambrose. Home, he thought, as he looked at your face. He wanted you home. To greet him when he came in, to greet him like a good little spouse. The sick part of his head wanted that and nothing else for you. The sicker part enthused if you were wax, he could have you forever. It wasn’t the same. He wasn’t a sick enough fucker to think wax people were real, nor would he do anything with it. He just wanted you to stay. The scars on his wrists ached when he rubbed at them, a subconscious, anxious movement as he waited. His Mama had left, and their Papa had driven himself mad. All he had was their town and his brothers, but now he wanted you as a part of his little family. A perfect little house-spouse. The words thundered in his head before you opened your mouth.

“Sure then, why not?” You smiled at him as the waitress took the money for the food and returned your leftovers in Styrofoam boxes.

Bo felt a smirk widen across his face, “Come on then, sweets, let’s get back to the house.” He took the food and held the door open for you to walk through, his smile infectious as you both dragged yourself up into his pickup and pulled out onto the highway once more. Bo’s hand went to the radio as a comfortable silence settled over the both of you, and turned the knobs, trying to tune into the station he liked. When the rock station came on, he sighed with relief and listened, one hand on the steering wheel, the other arm propped up out of the window.

“It’s a bit soft for you isn’t it?” You teased, holding up your little ipod and a cord, “I’ll put some good shit on.”

Bo only chuckled and let you fiddle with his old radio plug in, watching you struggle with a snort as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. When you finally managed it, Bo When you finally managed it, Bo felt the tension ease, the heavy drums rattling through the old speakers as he sped past the junction to civilization and onwards.

“You sure do live in the middle of nowhere, Bo.”

“Somethin’ like that, doll.”

The ride to Bo’s home was odd. The town was off the beaten track, obscured in a small corner of the country that no one had seen in years. The path was well worn, and the town was simply a single street left to rot. It seemed desolate, that was until you saw an old woman peep from behind her curtains, curlers in and tv fuzzing behind her. There was some life still here. There was no one around still though. One woman didn’t make a town. That was when the famous House of Wax came into view, yet Bo didn’t stop to let you see much of it, quickly turning the truck up towards the house, away from the museum and the rest of the town. He turned off the engine and applied the handbrake before taking a breath and getting out. You let him open your door for you and smiled.

“It’s a big old house.” It was more an observation.

Bo shrugged his shoulders, pulling his cap from his head as he walked towards the front door. It was open, and he turned the handle, cringing at the insides ass you walked past him.

A ‘pig sty’ was probably the nicest way of describing the inside of the Sinclair home. It was chock full of junk and stuff from so long ago you were sure it wouldn’t work anymore.

“It’s certainly unique.” You shrugged and perched yourself on the couch with a wave from Bo. He shoved his way into the kitchen and placed a kettle on the stove before walking back into the living area. His eyes were looking at something you couldn’t see as he walked through into another room in the back. The kettle was screaming on the stove. Your heart rate picked up when Bo didn’t come back. With a breath you dared to enter the kitchen, looking at the suspicious brown stains on the sink before you took the kettle away with a towel and placed it on the side, wondering where the cups were.

“Doll?” Bo shouted from the living room, “Shit.” He whispered it before you replied to him.

“I’m in the kitchen! The kettle was screaming!” You shouted through the door and waved, hot kettle in hand, “I don’t know where anything is.”

Bo seemed relieved to find you there, but quickly pulled two chipped mugs from the cupboard over your head and some cheap brand coffee, “Sorry its not the fancy shit. We don’t have no fancy machines for any of the grounds.”

“Don’t worry about it. Did you go and check on Vincent?” You asked, pouring hot water into the mugs.

As though you had summoned the man, a presence lingered in the doorway, “He’s uh, come up to see you.”

You turned around, coffee in hand, and almost jumped a mile in the air. A man the exact same height as Bo stood in the doorway, apron over thick jumper and tough cargo bottoms, boots covered in globs of white wax. His hair shadowed his face, hiding the features.

“Its nice to meet you, Vincent. Bo talks about you often. Only good things of course.” You offered him a drink and watched the man shake his head before he peered upwards, fingers cupped around the perfect skin of his chin. It looked like a medical prosthetic covering his face. It clicked that is was indeed a mask. Made of wax. You felt unnerved but held fast as you took your coffee back. A dark eye looked at you through the mask, analysing you on a level you couldn’t comprehend. The dark curtain of hair covered his face again as he tugged Bo’s shirt.

“A guest, not one of your projects. Well…” Something in the room churned then, darkening, souring the air with something you have never seen on his face, “Maybe if…” The words fell on deaf ears as Vincent reached for the bone handled knife on his thigh.

“Baby, don’t be doin’ no running now. We ain’t gonna hurt you.” Bo smiled and crowded your space, following you around the table as you felt the urge to panic rise in your gut, “What happened to breakfast? We were gonna eat here and have a grand old time!” He spread his arms as you watched Vincent by the door. Bo snatched your face in his hands, “Eyes on me, sugar.” White teeth snapped in front of your face, “We ain’t gonna do nothin’. You’re getting yourself all worked up for no reason!” He let go of your face and wrapped his arms around your frame, “I swear, you got an overactive imagination or somethin’.”

And like that, the atmosphere was calm. Vincent looked at you before taking a coffee and walking back out of the door, a dog barking and trailing behind him as he headed back towards the back rooms. As the door closed, you heard the scream that followed and the howl of the dog behind the wood.

“What the fuck is this, Bo?!”

Bo smirked, pulling his hat off before grappling you by the backside, pressing your hips together, “This is your new life, doll.” He snatched your wrists before you could smack at his face. The man leaned over, hand pinching your cheeks before his tongue ran over your hot face, licking you from the bottom of your jaw to the top of your cheek. He pulled away and pressed his face into your neck, breathing you in as the screams in the other room died down, and the dog stopped howling, “Better get used to it.” His hands trailed over your ass as he hugged you tighter.

The air in your lungs seized, “What do you mean?” and the screams started in the next room as the slick sound of a knife cut through the air. A door slammed open and you heard feet thump towards the kitchen. A girl ground her nails into the door frame, a stolen scalpel in hand as she glanced at Bo then back to you in his grasp.

The scalpel glinted before she moved with wild eyes, “You sick fuck!” She howled, launching herself towards the both of you. Bo moved quickly, hand catching her wrist. His grip slipped and the knife sliced his palm, the surgical weapon wet with bright red blood. You panicked, grabbing the girl by the wrists as Bo fisted his hand, blood dripping onto the kitchen floor.

“Get the fuck off of me!” She thrashed with the blade and you grunted as the two of you clattered onto the table. With a heave you rolled enough to smash her hand into the wood, watching her fingers recoil, the blade dropping from her grip. Fat tears dripped onto your face as she howled again, fighting to retrieve her blade. Silently, you snatched the knife and pushed her back. Vincent dashed into the door, grabbing the escaped girl by her hair, hunting knife pressed to her throat, the sharp edge glinting against the soft skin of her throat.

Clapping echoed around the room. Bo was leaned against the counter, his hips pressed back as he watched you gasp and hold the scalpel. You’d nicked yourself in the fight, arm bleeding and shirt sliced open, stained red with your own blood.

“What a show.” He hopped forwards and grinned, fingers moving over your shoulders as Vincent watched from the doorway, “Cut her real good, baby.” The purr made you clench, slick fingers unfurling from the scalpel with a shaky breath as you watched Vincent take the girl away, her tears dripping over her cheeks and onto the hard wood floor.

“You made me...” A sob choked in your throat before you steeled yourself, “I’m just as guilty as you.” It was a whisper.

Fingers pressed into your shoulders, a soft voice shushing your sniffling, “You ain’t done nothing wrong. She wont die. Vincent makes ‘em real purty.” They trailed a path down your sides before he held you by the waist, “Breakfast is getting cold.” He uttered behind your ear, breath hot against the skin, “I hate to waste good food.” Bo pressed a kiss to your neck before steering you to the table, pulling out a small first aid kit to patch up the cut until Vincent could stitch the both of you up.

The stitches in your arm ached. Bo’s palm was a mess, wrapped for a long time before it stayed closed as he moved it. Vincent had put stitches in carefully and watched Bo hiss and pick them sore for days before holding his brother still, disinfecting the stitches, and wrapping his palm so he couldn’t play with the wire. Your arm healed quickly as you tentatively settled into the new life, gazing at the sculptures Vincent often positioned in the House of Wax. Bo didn’t like your silence. You refused to eat for two days before he stirred up an argument. A screaming match on his side that made you swallow the mashed potatoes on your plate and think hard about what you were doing there. Another kid rolled into the town a day later, his hair a mess and his backpack hanging from one shoulder. You sat on the porch swing-seat as Bo sweet talked him inside.

“Fan belt? Oh, sure thing. I got a few in the house. You want to wait here with the spouse?” He nodded and Bo walked past you with a smile. A warning was hidden in his eyes somewhere. The warning was silly. You knew that ratting them out wouldn’t be good for you.

A smile curled on your face as you placed down your lemonade. It was cheap, flat almost, but it was refreshing in the sunshine as you sat with one of the boy’s books on your knees. Bo had been kind enough to drag you to your apartment, but not kind enough to let you ring work. Better you just disappeared, he said.

“Not from round here?” You asked, pushing your sunglasses up to reveal your eyes, “We don’t see many round these parts. A miracle I found Bo here in the wilderness.” The accent was choppy, but you’d been practicing enough to have a twang.

“Its a ghost town.” The male observed, “Just shit luck that my fanbelt snapped. It looked like it was done with plyers or something.”

You shrugged, “Shit happens.” And laughed before offering him a drink of lemonade. Bo was still inside; no doubt piecing together repair stuff to take to the truck.

“I will have a drink, thank you. It took me three hours of walking to find this place.” He took the glass of icy lemonade and drank great mouthfuls.

Bo came back through the door, startling the young man into choking as he glugged lemonade.

“A man goes inside, and a boy is already moving in on his turf. By all means,” he gave a sharp grin, “Make yourself at home.” He smirked at the boys stuttering before holding up a spanner, “I’m playing with you, boy.” He twirled the metal around his fist before placing his tools to the side. You saw Bo's shoulders tense before the metal tool smacked the boy over the head. It sent him spiralling, unsteady on his feet as he let out a squawk.

“What the fuck?!” He held out his hands, dropping the lemonade over the porch, the glass shattering.

Bo was on him quickly, pulling his arms back with a sneer, “You think I gave you permission to make yourself at home, huh?” He threw the boy into the wall of the house.

“Bo!” You clutched your book and gave him a snarl of your own.

In a fury, the man turned around, fists clenched, “I’ll talk with you later, doll.” The words were purred against your ear, Bo pressed into your personal space, before he recoiled like a viper and grabbed the unconscious boy. He pinched his face, looking him over with mild disgust, “You get on with making dinner.”

He left without anything else, descending into the basement, dragging the boy’s dead weight body behind him to try and calm down by exercising his muscles a little. Jealously wasn’t something you’d seen before. It was even deadlier coming from a man like Bo. You swallowed and sighed before pulling the pots out for dinner. You needed to get changed out of your lemonade sticky clothes before anything though.

Dressed in a soft shirt and bottoms, you leaned over the stove, cooking a basic meal for those that wanted it. You’d already shouted to Vincent about food. He hadn’t replied with a knock, so you assumed he was busy with his latest creation. It was probably the boy Bo had taken down. Bo hadn’t resurfaced since, other than slamming the door to the basement link to the House of Wax and storming upstairs for something. You sighed, pinching at the shirt over your torso, wondering if the outfit would appeal to him enough.

Listening to your own thoughts was sick. But you wanted to impress him. Bo was special. It was fucked up, but this whole thing was.

“Bo?!” You dared to shout up the stairs, “Dinner is ready!”

The door slammed open. You made yourself scarce, escaping to the kitchen to turn off the hob. Footsteps made the stairs creak as Bo came down, sighing heavily before he shouted, “Where you at, sweets?” He called before entering the kitchen. He was a state, face red and wrists sore from rubbing and gouging at them.

Your eyes caught the redness, “Baby? What happened?” You knew. The abuse as a child. He'd sobbed one night in the bar after far too many beers, before taking you to the cheap motel you both often went to, and fucking you hard against the wall.

“Nothing.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, “Its all fine now you’re here, sugar.” Bo pressed his face into your neck and sighed again, breathing you in as the food cooled on the stove, “I love you.”

The world froze as you felt the warmth from the man behind you seep into your back.

“I love you too.”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But was it true? You adored Bo like no other before all of this. Did this change him? You leaned into his touch and made your decision.

Bo purred at your reaction; lips pressed to the hot skin of your neck. The shirt was hooked out of your trousers, flapping over your stomach as he pressed you towards the side. His fingers slid teasingly along your sternum, pressing into the flesh as they danced over your stomach, aiming lower. A hot breath blew over the back of your ear as Bo's hips pressed you firmly against the counter. His fingers dipped underneath your bottoms, stroking as he kissed a spot behind your ear. His fingers slipped around before teasing the flesh, ignoring your grunt against the counter and the cant of your hips towards him.

"Make some noises for me, sugar, I'm a man dyin' of thirst."

You slid your hand around instead, grinning as you pressed your hand to his crotch, fingers splaying over the rough material of his old jeans.

Teeth snapped by your ear, “You better hang on. I’m gonna see what noises I can get out of you.”


End file.
